


Time after Time

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ficathon Walks into a Bar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat





	Time after Time

In all ways important, bars everywhere looked very much the same. Old calendar, new calendar, this universe or another, people all just wanted to dull the edges and find a bit of forgetfulness. What they used to accomplish this numbness might vary from place to place, but the end result was the same. And thus, Avon wasn't surprised that this space bar he walked into on this unfamiliar station felt much like the ones he had known in a hundred ports-of-call. The bar was bare-bones at best, but it contained a full compliment of customers, human by their appearance. Most were in some sort of uniform, and very few looked happy. But, at least, none of the uniforms were black. He glanced around, noticing that the contingent with facial hair appeared to be the better dressed, but the ones in the colorful shirts seemed the friendlier. He sat at a table in a corner so he could keep an eye on both groups.

The harried barman took his order—what the gentleman in red was having—and scurried away. His drink arrived and he sipped it cautiously. Not bad, a bit odd, but not bad. He felt the kick as he swallowed and realized the drug of choice here was alcohol, telling him that at least some of the customers were from Earth, or one of its colonies. He wondered which century. Ever since he'd stepped through the odd apparatus buried on Xenon, he'd been lost in time and space. He'd tried to return to his own timeline over and over, but there seemed to be no way to calibrate an exact placement, as was obvious by his arrival on this space station.

"Don't do it, lad."

He looked at the speaker, his same friend in the red shirt. He appeared to be restraining a young man sitting across the table.

"It's only the Klingon's attempt to rile you. Ignore him; the captain wants no trouble."

Klingons? He knew that name—an extinct race from centuries ago. They'd been wiped out by the ever-expanding Federation. Too hostile for any kind of assimilation, had been the reason for their annihilation. Well, if these bearded men were a fair example of said peoples, then maybe he could see the reason why they'd been exterminated. And, at least, he was in the right timeline, just a few centuries too early. Great.

Suddenly, a flying body landed on his table, sending the remainder of his drink aloft and turning the table over. He leaped up and back, trying to avoid the fists and feet of the combatants—the bar had erupted in a full scale brawl between the two factions. A rather slovenly character slid around the bar, pouring himself a free glass of intoxicant, dancing out of the way of those engaged in the fight. He obviously belonged to neither of the groups, but seemed quite amused at the disagreement. As one of the Klingons staggered into him and raised a fist, Avon tripped him, stepping farther away and doubting the wisdom of having entered this bar. What the hell?

"Good move, laddie. Scott, chief engineer of the _USS Enterprise_. Nice to meet you. All hands needed against the Klingon horde."

And with a wild gleam in his eyes and a broad grin on his face, the man leaped back into the fray, tackling a Klingon who staggered and went down. So much for captain's orders.

Another group of red shirted men came charging in, grabbed the non-Klingons, and wrested them out the door. Security, he assumed. In any case they'd made quick work of breaking up the fight. With the _Enterprise_ crew gone, the bar seemed much darker and less friendly—time for him to make a strategic exit. Maybe he was learning the trick to picking time lines. What about a few years earlier than he had left—say, three years, before the alien war, before Blake had left, before everything in his world had fallen apart, before....


End file.
